Duty
by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: "Swing that whip, or die beside him." Those aren't the options Anakin wanted, not the ones he was hoping for. But sometimes, duty must be stronger than feelings and a Jedi must make what seem like all the wrong choices...AU Slaves of the Republic
1. Chapter 1

**(A/N) So, Kadavo was definitely my favorite arc of the show, I like exploring different what ifs. Haven't decided where this one is headed, but it will be different from the other Kadavo fic I've written. Interested to write, hope you all enjoy. Please R and R, will be updating soon.**

"Swing that whip or die beside him." It was simple enough command, one that would seal his cover as Lars Quell and cement him to the Queen's side. But this was Obi-Wan: this was not a choice he had.

"It's alright." His Master was on his knees with his hands behind his head. "I will be fine Anakin. You have to save the people of Kiros." Their sabers were in R2, who beeped beside the Queen and was waiting for an order from Anakin to launch them.

"You'll be sold into slavery." The chanting of the Zygerrians in the arena was starting to make him feel constricted. He was being bombarded with horrible memories as a child, before he begun work at Watto's shop. Watto cared about money; the Hutts cared for money, but also cruelty and fear. With every voice that came to his ears, he flinched his back, tugging at long forgotten, now faded scars that ran along his own skin. "I can't do this."

"There are too many of them here, Anakin." Obi-Wan spoke softly, not nearly loud enough for the guards to hear him. "I will be fine." He said again, and Anakin could feel his Master's gentle force signature along his own, taking the edge off of his nerves.

"I can't let them take you."

"Then don't." Obi-Wan said assuredly. "But they're getting anxious. Now may not be best for a rescue." There was a hint of humor in his tone, but it hit Anakin like a wall. There was nothing to make light of in this situation; there was no humor here. He closed his eyes, using the force to block out everything around him. The horrible sand that was already starting to grind it's way into his boots. The ceaseless chanting of a bloodthirsty crowd, the anxiety of the guards waiting to see what he would do, the call again from the Queen for him to strike his only friend. He forced himself to let it go, all of it gone in a single breath from tired lungs.

He opens his eyes and concentrates on the only thing he can. He knows that this will have to seem real; he is a slaver, breaking a Jedi Master, there is no room for gentility. The whip activates in his hand, but the buzz never reaches his ears. He can only hear his own breathing, long forgotten screams from other slaves as they were punished around him so long ago. He keep his eyes on Obi-Wan's back, even as the first swing cuts a thin line through the cloth.

He can feel the energy from the crowd, resisting the urge to vomit as he swings hard again, making an X across Obi-Wan's back. His own breathing is thicker, heavier than it was. His chest is filling with guilt. Every mission he and Obi-Wan have been on, each gentle press on his shoulder, every time Obi-Wan smiled at him even though he had messed up, his Master's almost broken body after he had left him for two months on Rattatak, his always insistent but calm forgiveness are bombarding him as the whip cuts more and more lines.

They are screaming now, and he doesn't have the concentration to keep them out anymore; they want more. They want to see proof. It's maybe two more swings when they have it and Anakin can see, and feel, on the back of his hand, the thin lines of blood that are finally coming from his master.

"Stop!" He hears the Queen screaming. But he doesn't look, he's afraid if he sees her face, he might not be able to resist the urge to kill her. But as he watches, his relief at being able to stop fades instantly as one of the guards forces Obi-Wan's now shredded tunic off of him, exposing raw skin.

"Continue." His hands clench tightly. This isn't Obi-Wan's first beating today. His skin is already purpled, dark with bruises, some of which Anakin can watch forming in the sun. New ones. From him. Joining the thin line that is seeping blood down his back.

"It's alright, Anakin." Obi-Wan's voice is quiet. The man is trying not to show his pain, but Anakin almost wishes he would. Wishes he would scream, and yell, and fight back against him. Keep him from this. From betrayal. Instead, he just stretches his arms back behind his head and waits, twitching as slightly as possible as another bloody line cuts across his shoulders.

Ans it continues, the cuts changing progressively from bruising to bleeding; and he can see his Master swaying, trying to keep conscious. His back is a bloody mess, and Anakin moves mechanically, his arm making movements that he can't quite feel anymore. He can feel tears pressing at the edge of his eyes, but to let them fall would be the same as never having done this. Instead, he just moves, not goaded on by the crowd, who have begun to throw things at Obi-Wan, none of them actually hitting him, and watches as each new line and electric pulse cuts across the skin and rips into damaged muscles.

Finally, after what feels like the agony of forever, Obi-Wan slumps forward, and Anakin can feel the almost whole dulling of his force signature as his Master slips into unconsciousness. He watches as the man who trained him falls, in a whole agony, into the dirt and sand around him, blood from his back pooling at his sides. He hears the whip snap shut, but can't move his eyes from the form in front of him.

"Bring the Jedi to the palace." He hears the Queen's orders, and barely sparing a glance at her before climbing back onto the ladder that led to her seat on the auction overlook.

"I am sorry to have doubted you, Lars. The Jedi will break in time, all beings do." She curled her long, catlike fingers over the edge of his face, scratching slightly at where he hadn't had a chance to shave in the past few days. He looked through her, the scent of blood on his fingers and sprayed on his shirt overwhelming him for a moment, almost leading him to stagger.

"Thank you, your highness." He finally said, and she smiled up at him. One he didn't return. He could hear them moving through the back halls of the castle, shuffling as they brought Obi-Wan inside. He could hear the resuming of the auction, and looked down to see other beings brought out, one a small child that startled at the lines of blood stretched over the pallet where she was clinging to her mother's dress. In her, he saw himself; but more than that, he saw sacrifice, Obi-Wan's sacrifice, and he quelled his emotions.

He moved to stand back by the Queen, folding his arms and wiping his hands on a rag. "The Jedi is secure, your Grace." He turned to look at the guard who bore the news, but his gaze only lingered on the Zygerrian for a moment until his eyes met his Padawans. She was staring at him, gaping at him more like; tears running in silent lines down her face.

He only wished she understood; that look held no forgiveness in its depths. He only wish she knew he felt the same. There was no forgiveness in him. Not for himself. Not for this.


	2. Chapter 2

**(A/N) thanks for the solid response on the first chapter :) Please R and R, let me know what you all think as we go**

He stepped through the halls of the palace, his feet lead weights, his own mind weighing more heavily than the armor the Queen had gifted him the night before, after the dinner they had shared in the privacy of her quarters. She had made her intentions with him clear, and he had, to a point, accepted them. For the first time since the auction, he had not thought of Obi-Wan; he had instead thought of Padme. Accepted touches from hands that were not hers, kisses that didn't come from her lips; all too aware that this was an aspect of this mission that he could never share with another person. Not her. Not Obi-Wan. Not Ahsoka. This was to be a private memory, shoved down like so many others; one that curled with the shame he already harbored so much from his childhood. AT least this one had not come to fruition as the Queen had wanted; when he had left her room, it was clear she wanted more, she wanted everything he had to give her, but he had held back. For now, unfulfilled desires might do well to keep them all alive.

He stepped into the throne room; the Queen perched on her throne as usual, but his Padawan absent from the room. "Your highness." He tried to make his bow less stiff, his face contracting in an obligatory smile that was reminiscent of the callousness he was trying to embody.

"Lars." She said, setting down a pale green drink form where it rested between the tips of her fingers, "I was wondering when you might join us." Her pointed teeth were the exact color of the clouds he could see puffing over the dessert, headed their way. They would break over the city, fill the gardens with enough water to sustain the plants, leave the slave camps beyond them dry, cracked, and dying. Nothing had changed.

"Is there something I might do for you, my lady?" She beckoned him over with a curl of her long-nailed fingers, and he stepped to her, pressing a kiss to the back of her palm. It tasted of ash.

"You can go check on our Jedi guest." She lifted her abandoned drink glass to his lips and he had no choice but to sip on the sweet liquid. It hid his revulsion. He wanted to something else, anything else but that. At the same time, he wanted to see Obi-Wan, wanted to know that the man was still alive, breathing, living, connected. "I have already sent your slave to tend to him."

"Someone else has been to see him then?"

"D'Nar went this morning. Says he has something personal with this Jedi, Kenobi. I do not care about his vendetta, but I want the Jedi alive, and D'Nar," She smiled at Anakin, one he reflected even as his metallic fingers curled in on themselves in inexpressible rage. "D'Nar is not known for his kind treatment of prisoners."

"Of course not." He moved to step down, but seeing the glint in her eyes, pressed another kiss to the back of her hand before departing. "I will report to you on his condition, your highness."

The Zygerrian guards he passed paid him no mind, white dots of their eyes flickering underneath their helmets. He reached out with the force. There was more than the façade of power here; these guards were afraid, but he was unsure of what. It was not him, or they would have reacted more strongly. It was not Miraj, he could detect no discernible feeling in and around the throne room. No, there was something else. They were waiting.

He came to the prison block, a wrought iron gate separating a staircase that led down to the dungeons; a single guard blocking the way. "Her majesty Queen Miraj has sent me to check on the status of the Jedi." This guard couldn't have cared less what Anakin was doing; but he knew better than to let his guard down. He might have the Queen's interest, the Queen's shaky trust after yesterday; but he had no doubt he was being watched.

The Zygerrian opened the gate, and Anakin could have sworn he heard a soft growl come from beneath the helmet as he began his descent. As he moved temperature first seemed to get only hotter, the lack of proper ventilation making it incredibly stuffy. But as he moved down to the occupied blocks, it felt like a chasm of ice was being pushed through them. He shivered, he had never gotten quite used to the cold, and this, this was almost unbearable.

He walked past one block where a female of a non-human species was sitting alone, her hands in chains, staring at the wall. He paused for a moment, but she didn't move to acknowledge him. Her eyes stayed forward, blank and unfeeling. He wondered how long she had been here, the cold didn't seem to bother her, though she seemed mostly nude. Or perhaps that was simply how her species dressed. He might never know. He decided he may not want to know.

He heard low moans, some high-pitched screams reverberate from other cells, cast in darkness where he couldn't see the occupants. He could feel the force now, Ahsoka especially and a faint hum from Obi-Wan. He followed that, not glancing at the empty cells that lined this section of the prison.

"Sorry, Master Kenobi." He heard a whisper from a cell up ahead where he could feel his training bond with Ahsoka pulsating. He swallowed, waiting on a reply from Obi-Wan that never came. He stepped forward where he could see. The sunlight didn't extend down here, the light seeping in from the hallway being all that lit most of them, but in the cell he could see the gold shimmering off of Ahsoka's outfit she had been donned to

She was tending to Obi-Wan. At first glance, he thought the man was standing, but then he saw that he was simply suspended form the wall, his head slumped forward where his chin rested on his chest. She held a wet cloth between her fingers, and had it pressed to his chest. He wasn't responding at all because he was wholly unconscious, and Anakin could see dark purple and black marks over his ribcage; what looked like claw marks cutting across the muscles of his abdomen. His trousers were glistening red over his left shin.

"How is he?" Anakin choked out. There were holo-recorders down here, several turned towards him from the corners to him.

"He was attacked again this morning. He hasn't eaten since yesterday." Her voice was cold, but she seemed to understand that Anakin had to keep up a façade. She pulled the rag back from his chest and Anakin's stomach turned as she washed the blood out in the bowl of water she had brought. He wanted to wretch and yell and an image of his strangling D'Nar came through his head.

"Anger will not help him." Ahsoka said in a heavy whisper under her breath, and Anakin was stricken. He wasn't shielding he realized, she could tell what he was thinking. His chest felt like it was constricting, he had to return to the Queen, but she was right. He let out a long breath.

"I will have food and water send to him." He turned to walk away, passing by all of the empty cells, hearing Ahsoka speaking softly to Obi-Wan as she washed more and more blood away and tried to stop the flow. He passed by the woman, still staring hard at the wall in front of her and shook his head. He started to climb the stairs, moving out of bone-deep cold , feeling the rush of heat.

He coughed at the change, the sound being mangled in his throat to sound more like a twisted sob. In his head was an image, a horrible image of Obi-Wan. In his chest, cut through the skin and muscles and tissue; JEDI was cut in a permanent scar on his body.


	3. Chapter 3

**(A/N) Y'all, I am totally overwhelmed with the response to this story, thank you so much! I hope you all enjoy this chapter as well! Please R and R, let me know what you think!**

"He will be arriving tomorrow." The Queen was seated next to him at the dinner table, though her words were now directed at D'Nar, who tore into his meat like many of the non-sentient animals Anakin had encountered. Except, at least in those animals, he had seen a value in their life. He chewed on the vegetables, tasteless and gritted with the sand that managed to find its ways through the cracks in the palace walls; he listened to the conversation, trying not to make it to obvious. "Everything needs to be perfect; we want his money."

"We don't need money from the Separatists, your highness; we would do well to keep ourselves separate."

"We need nothing, D'Nar, from any being." She laughed, followed by an obligatory chuckle from around the table. "But to decline the Count's money would be only hurting ourselves. We may as well take advantage." On her last word, Anakin felt her nails press down, digging slight points into the skin of his upper leg; she had been hinting, not so subtlety at him since he had returned from the prison earlier. At his command, he had watched guards take a bowl of protein paste, bread, and water down to Obi-Wan. Ahsoka had been sent back up, but was now standing at the far corners of the room with the other slaves. When Anakin had seen her, several of the gold chains of her outfit were dotted with blood; his skin crawled, but after D'Nar saw it, he had snarled with pleasure and she had been forced to keep them that way.

"Count who, your highness?" He asked. Several eyes turned to him, D'Nar's tongue flicked over slimy lips as he regarded Anakin the same way he had regarded the dilapidated poultry on his plate. He had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer; one that would immensely complicate things for him, Ahsoka, and Obi-Wan.

"Count Dooku." She smiled coyly at his, showing the tips of her teeth. "It is an honor to have the head of the Separatists in our palace. They have much money, we are hoping to involve them in our transactions."

"The auctions? I don't think Count Dooku would be interested in those, your highness. He tends to deal in arms." She regarded him for a moment, as if suddenly seeing him a new light. As if a altruistic realization had come to her, a slow smile spreading over her face.

"You are right, Lars." The hand on his thigh shifted slightly upward, dangerously close to what he knew she wanted. Hi pulse raced slightly, not from excitement, only from concern. He knew that his ability to continue this would wane, and he was no closer to getting knowledge of the people of Kiros than he was to freeing Obi-Wan from his confining prison below the castle; and he had decided that both were running on an ever tightening schedule. "The Count is coming only for his interest in the Jedi and the colony of Kiros we have moved into custody."

Anakin felt the shiver of fear roll up his spine. Dooku knew Obi-Wan had been captured, if he was coming here to see him, there was a fair chance his master would be killed sooner rather than later. He considered asking her then about the people of Kiros then, she had provided him the perfect segue to it; but something told him to hold back. To ask now, after he had already confronted her about Dooku, might set him even farther back.

"I think he will find the Jedi to his liking." He had meant to say Obi-Wan's name. Refer to him, as D'Nar usually did, as Kenobi. But even the thought of saying that, so familiar, so damaged, had burned his tongue like acid.

"I agree." She laughed, one that was genuinely followed by D'Nar and the others around the table. "What a fool Kenobi was; it is of no difference if he is here or traipsing through the galaxy. Kenobi is a slave, as the rest are; he only has the special privilege of being worthy of my…" She seemed to contemplate what she was saying, shifting her hand all the way to the apex of Anakin's thigh and gave him a sickeningly cruel smile that he was forced to mirror. "Interest."

"Kenobi is nothing." D'Nar laughed, and the others laughed as well, even more than they had for the Queen. "We'll have him begging for mercy or death soon enough; doesn't matter which one we give him, both are the same." He took a great drink of what alcohol stank in his cup, slamming it down and standing from the table in a swift motion.

"Quell." For the first time, he directly addressed Anakin, his feline eyes glowing with a hint of drunkenness and a deep personal satisfaction. "Join me tomorrow, before the Count comes. We'll ready the Jedi for him."

"Of course." Anakin said, raising his glass to the Prime Minister, who bowed to the Queen and promptly left.

"You know, Lars Quell," The Queen's hand thankfully moved from his leg to scratch at the side of his face again, now clean shaven. "You do not strike me as one who enjoys breaking in slaves. You continue to surprise me." He didn't have to ask to see that the Queen apparently enjoyed surprises.

He stood, moving away from her touch that was starting to give him chilled goosebumps along his jawline, his hands twitching uncomfortably to hit her hand away from him. "I should hope the surprises will continue, your Highness." He too gave a short bow, and stepped from the room, the majority of his dinner forgotten as his stomach began twisting itself into knots again.

Dooku would arrive soon; he could not be seen when the man arrived, he would have to find a way to hide himself at a well enough distance. Perhaps he could convince D'Nar that he would like to see the city after going with him to the prisons in the morning. His stomach was turning at that as well; he had been unable to visit Obi-Wan after that morning. But he had heard from the guards that he was on a strict schedule of what he had sickeningly called "Obedience" training. But from what they could tell, it was torture, glossed over with cheap demands that no one expected to be met.

He sent up a silent prayer to the force that his master might get some sleep. And another that Ahsoka would be able to go to him again with help. And another that after tomorrow, after he went with D'Nar, that there might be some shred of his own humanity left in him. Enough for them to make it out of here alive.


	4. Chapter 4

**(A/N) Thank you all for the overwhelming response on this one. Fair warning, its pretty violent; nothing too far beyond what we have already touched on. Please R and R, they are always amazing to read what you all think!**

"You ever had the pleasure of working with a Jedi before, Quell?" D'Nar was leading them through the icy blocks of the prison system again, this time, more cells seemed to be full of wailing captives, begging to be released, touting Republic citizenship or wealth, but there words were falling on deaf and indifferent ears. Anakin forced himself to walk by them; with the last auction so recent, he would have thought it would have been some time before the next, but he supposed with Dooku coming, they were looking to impress.

He shook his head to the question, and the Zygerrian smiled at him, slapping hand to his shoulder. "Takes a lot to break a Jedi," He cast a long glance down at a small statured humanoid male, who's green skin was riddled with bumps risen by the cold. He shrank back from the angular glare, his eyes already wide with fear. Anakin could see a cut risen on the side of his eyes, crusted over with infection from lack of treatment. "A couple good beatings will break these in; but Kenobi's a piece of work." They were at Obi-Wan's cell, though Anakin couldn't see his old master inside this time, his light off completely.

They stepped inside, the rank stench of blood and vomit and bile coming to Anakin's nostrils; Obi-Wan still hung suspended, and he seemed to be sleeping, his breathing shallow. Whatever they had done to him in Obedience training was taking its toll on the Jedi, around the words carved in his chest were an array of almost black bruises. The skin not dried with blood was pale, drawn to his features to the point it looked almost ashen. Anakin swallowed, forcing the images out of his head of his Master being tossed between guards, beaten with whatever they had convenient, whipped, burned.

"Wake up, Jedi." D'Nar said harshly, turning on the overhead light. It completely washed the color out of Obi-Wan's skin and he could see that where only his shin had been wet with blood the morning prior, the whole bottom of his left leg was soaked in blood, including his foot where it seemed to be oddly bent in the middle. The man didn't move, not even a twitch as the light came down on him. Anakin tried to give a faint smile, Obi-Wan had always been a heavy sleeper, much to the man's chagrin when Anakin would sneak out of the temple at night to go on the search for droid parts and electrical pieces. Now it just made him choked on his own breath now.

"Can't have that." Anakin said nothing, unsure of whether D'Nar was actually speaking to him of himself. He watched the man pull a small metal rod from his belt and couldn't keep himself from flinching harshly when he pressed it into a small band clamped around Obi-Wan's arm, sending jolts of electricity through the man's entire body. D'Nar didn't notice, too busy smiling at Obi-Wan as he writhed in uncontrolled contractions and he woke with a hoarse gasp.

Anakin felt fear rip through him, Obi-Wan's eyes fixed on him for a moment and he was afraid that the man would say his name in the delirium he was trapped in; but after a moment, his gaze shifted to D'Nar, who was unchaining from the wall. "You should be honored, Kenobi. You get to go upstairs."

Obi-Wan didn't speak, which earned him a backhanded strike across the face, three of D'Nar's claws cutting into his cheek. He collapsed forward as the last chain released his arm from the wall. Anakin stepped forward to catch him, but D'Nar pushed an arm in front of him and he watched as Obi-Wan fell to the floor leaning on the wall for support. For the first time in two days, he was given a clear view of the wounds he had given his master, stretched thin across his back, smeared red, and inflamed. They were starting to scar over, but the bruises that surrounded them were turning a sickening shade of yellow.

"Get up, Kenobi; unless you'd like another scar to match that nice one on your chest." He watched as his master tried to push himself from the floor, every muscle burning to help him from the ground, but he stood stock still. Obi-Wan's arms supported him, but his leg injury wouldn't accept any weight, and he was too slow moving for D'Nar. Simultaneously, a foot slammed into his chest, and an arm wrenched him upwards where Anakin had no choice but to catch him, pulling him to his chest to keep him from falling as his leg gave out. Anakin wanted to keep him there, keep him safe, alleviate the pain he could feel reverberating through the force; but he was yanked away harshly, D'Nar's claw-tipped fingers twisting into his ginger hair.

"Walk." He pulled Obi-Wan's hands behind him, clamping them together with a pair of cuffs Anakin hadn't noticed. The man was barely conscious as it was, and now, ironically, the only thing keeping him standing was D'Nar's hands on his wrists. Anakin reached out with the force, bypassing all of the wounds he longed to heal to concentrate on the man's leg; giving it enough support so that when his damaged foot hit the ground, he didn't falter.

He wanted a sign, some form of recognition that the man could feel him, knew it was still him under this mask. Of course, that would never come. His chest constricted, but he walked behind the pair of them, wishing the walk might take forever and Obi-Wan could avoid what was coming in the throne room.

* * *

Anakin stepped through the fruit market of the city center; ignoring the pleas of impoverished looking people to buy the fruit they had in their baskets and the clothes stored in stalls. He had to separate himself from the ever-present palace guards, who even now were walking by him with staffs held aloft. Dooku was here, in the palace. He was meeting with Miraj, come to see Obi-Wan. He had no desire to leave, he wanted to keep him safe, stop the inevitable damage. But he was weak. He had already failed.

He turned a corner, went into a street where nothing else lingered but a sand rat, scrounging through the remains of what looked like a lunch canteen for one of the underground mine workers, the only people who lived in the city not royalty or slavery. He pressed his forehead to the wall, then his elbows, running his hands through his hair, the long tendrils of hair twisted into his fingers.

He felt his shoulders shake with the sobs, felt his breath hitch, but no tears came. He didn't have them in him, he hadn't let himself cry since his mother had died years before, and now would be no different. But he could feel the desire, feel the pain as if it were his own, now tinged with the dark side of the force.

There was a simple truth in all of this. There were images, physical remains he could now feel staining his tunic, his skin, his mind. And what had been his part in all of this, even he wasn't sure. He hadn't struck him again, not like he had two days ago, not like he had when the crowd had yelled and cheered for him to beat him bloody and raw. No. He hadn't done that.

He had watched, almost horrifically transfixed as a knife slid between two of his Master's ribs, heated and searing the skin. Had watched in silence as it was twisted, snapping both of the bones, tearing through skin and muscle and flesh then being wrenched free only to make a twin scar across his chest. A moment of silence, a cruel smile form D'Nar, then a terrible noise as the pain overwhelmed him and he dry-heaved, not having anything left in him, before collapsing. Miraj had laughed, D'Nar had laughed, he had stared in horrified silence.

Then what had he done? Had he helped him from the floor where he could see his rib bones stabbing at the thin, pushed-up layer of skin stretched over them, leaking blood from terrific gashes? Had he checked to see if the man was going into shock as his body was convulsing? Had he checked to see if he was breathing enough? Yelled? Protested? Given up this pretense to defend the man who had always lived as his father? No. He was silent, as he was now. He had pulled him from the ground at her command, stabilized him from where he was jerking aimlessly as his body tried desperately to adjust to his bones being snapped and jerked out of place; to the bruise forming along his jawline where D'Nar had struck him in the prison. He had moved him to the wall, shackled him at her feet.

He had watched as D'Nar had jammed the shock stick back into the clamp on his arm, forcing him awake only to choke him against the wall. He had stood there, Obi-Wan's blue eyes staying on him only a moment before he was forced to his knees, his already damaged foot crushed again under D'Nar's boot. Then, because of whatever merciful blessing of the force, the Zygerrian had seemed satisfied with the torn, and bleeding circles cut into Obi-Wan's flesh. He had watched in silence as his hands were shackled to the wall behind him, keeping him tied down, but upright at the very least.

Then he had left, accepted a drink from her hand before during so. Hadn't turned to look at him as he disappeared. Had ignored Ahsoka as she reached out to him through the force. Had ignored his stomach that was twisting and turning and knotting and threatening to lose its contents. Had ignored the Queen who asked if he might be her guest for Dooku's arrival. Had ignored the urge to kill them all. Had ignored all of it and had simply disappeared. And he would wait, until Dooku was gone, he could not return.

But he couldn't stay here either. He had to know what was happening, what things had transpired. The state of things, Obi-Wan might call it. He was looking forward to, walking the streets as the sun began to wane in the late afternoon sky, to another restless night of feigning off unwanted advances, trying desperately to garner information that seemed to have no interest to the Queen. He was tired. So tired.

He leapt carefully, bypassing the stairs on either side of him, and moved along the side of the wall, attempting to reduce his force signature. Ahsoka, he could tell, had done the same, he could barely feel her and it was only through their training bond. But he could feel Obi-Wan. There was no point in the man trying to hide anything, they would beat it from him; he was exposed, raw, trying to concentrate the force on anything other than staying alive might be enough to kill him. He could feel Obi-Wan. Every ache, twist, blood droplet, repressed scream; all settled into a hollow place in his heart, but out after his mother had died at the hands of raiders.

And he could feel Dooku; pulsating with the dark side. With the anger, rage, power he felt building inside himself at the injustice of all of this. He could feel the Sith, and now, back pressed against a wall, he could hear him speaking in a measured tone, a touch of satisfaction in his tone.

And he curled his fingers, nails biting into his own palm. This would end soon. This had to end soon.

He would make it.


	5. Chapter 5

"Where have you taken the people of Kiros, Miraj?" He felt the trickle of anger he always felt at Dooku's voice. Though this time, it was actually asking something valuable. Involuntarily, his metallic fingers clenched, the memory of his flesh being torn from his body sending a shudder through him.

"Oh, Count, is the Jedi not enough for you?" Anakin could recognize a master negotiation at work, she wanted something from him. She was manipulating him, dangling the information at arm's length. Anakin paled to think it was a technique he often used in negotiations, one that shook him deeper when he recalled that Obi-Wan refused to do that. He considered it barbaric, and far below the necessity for a Jedi to use when negotiations were meant for peace. "Isn't Kenobi wat you wanted?"

"I have little interest in the torture of Obi-Wan Kenobi." Anakin didn't believe that for a moment, but Dooku was brilliant. This would not be an easily won negotiation. "And I find it hard to believe that Kenobi came alone; Skywalker is more than likely here somewhere. I doubt your security's ability to keep them separated for long."

Anakin had to smirk a bit at that, the only thing fending off the guilt that was rising in him. He heard the Queen's angry hiss at Dooku's words, but the former Jedi interrupted her before she had the chance to speak again. "Of course, I could help remedy that. But I want more than a promise of Kenobi's death." At that, Anakin's blood froze, and he swiveled his head around, taking care to keep himself hidden to watch the scene in front of him.

The Queen was perched on her throne, Dooku with his hands behind his back in front of her. Obi-Wan was still chained to the wall, though with D'Nar absent, he had slipped back into unconsciousness, leaned forward, suspended with his arms behind him due to his chains.

The Queen wasn't bothering to mask her dislike of Dooku, who looked as calmly reproachful as he normally did, although even more contemptuous, which Anakin found amazing. "I came here to pay for information."

"I have not intention of killing the Jedi." Anakin let out a breath, "Kenobi is mine. He will stay that way."

"And access to Separatist forces belongs to me." Dooku was not playing a game. Anakin watched as he took a step, turning his back on the queen who looked as though she desired nothing more than to slit the old man's throat. Finally, something she and Anakin could agree on. "I am paying you for information, not games."

"The people of Kiros are being processed in a camp on Kadavo." She finally relented. "Why so much interest in them, Count?"

"The Jedi order is interested in them." He said, and Anakin watched his long fingers uncurl as he turned to face her. "With Kenobi's failure, they will send others. I intend to stop them."

"What about Kenobi?" The Queen asked, her accent still tinged with irritation. Dooku said nothing for a moment, taking his eyes again off the Queen to focus them instead on Obi-Wan. "Will they come for him, soon?"

"I doubt they will come at all." An animal came alive in Anakin. Here was the man, the reason he had lost an arm, the reason he had almost lost Padme on naboo, the man who had tried to kill him on so many occasions, the man who had so injured Obi-Wan, now standing over his helpless master, who was slowly sacrificing his own life to save a group of beings he had never met. Every breath Anakin drew was painful as he watched in silence as Dooku lifted Obi-Wan from the ground, letting him loose to the chains so that he fell the ground.

"With no ability to fight, Kenobi is useless. The Order will sacrifice their own when it runs out of need for them." He used the tip of his boot to push Obi-Wan's head, turning the man's face to the ceiling. "Your units will arrive in three days time, the only one who would care enough to save him is Skywalker."

"The Jedi are slaves to a corrupt Republic." Dooku smiled at her words, and for the first time, gave a laugh, one that was cold and tinged with cruelty as he stepped away from the man.

"I would agree with you, your highness." There was a heavy sarcasm in her title, one that Anakin could see she caught wholeheartedly. "But I would say that slaves are worth something, even broken." He took another step to the door, leaving for the landing platform. "Broken Jedi are worthless."


	6. Chapter 6

He crouched by the edge of the building, the fading rays of the sun filtering around him as they city began to shut down. Soon, the illegal bars and brothels would come to life, the palace would glow faintly with the expensive lights it had, and the citizens of the capital of Zygerria would accept that another day of life had ended, and a new would begin the next day. He did not have that luxury.

If the Separatists were arriving in three days, they would have to be gone by then; or whoever was still here would be dead for sure. Getting Ahsoka might be easy enough, he could lie to the Queen, say he was leaving on an extended business venture, sure to return in a few days. By the time he returned, they would have seized the operation at Kadavo, freed the slaves. But that would leave his master behind. Even now, sitting on the ledge of the castle, his legs dangling over the cityscape below, he could hear her giving instructions.

She would use him as a showcase of her power. To Dooku, to her people, to herself. He was too far injured now to fight back, but Anakin knew that Obi-Wan wouldn't resign himself to her torture. His resolve would hold, and eventually, she would have to kill him to show a display of strength. Or D'Nar would do it for her.

He couldn't leave him here, not alone with them, not even for the time it would take to get Ahsoka safely away. Sighing heavily, trying to ignore the sand that was gritting against his teeth, he turned to go inside, putting on a false smile for the Queen who seemed delighted at his reappearance.

"Lars!" She exclaimed, rising from her throne, the bird that seemed to be flying around her always flapped noisily. "You missed the Count."

"I do apologize, M'Lady." He moved his eyes to the spot where Obi-Wan had been only a couple of hours before; but now all that remained was a spot of blood that a thin, otherworldly woman was scrubbing at furiously to clear it from the floor. "I had business to attend to in the city; I have been trying to familiarize myself with the planet. In case I," And he leaned close to her, ignoring the undercurrent of revulsion as he leaned to her ear, "decide to stay for a while."

She pressed a kiss to his neck, and when he pulled back from her, she was positively beaming at him. As much as she could, anyway, with black eyes that still glinted of cruelty and pain. "He is bringing his forces here in three days. We will be reinforced, and able to spread to more systems." She explained carefully, turning to walk back to her throne, swaying her hips in a way that Anakin knew was meant to intrigue him. He had to pretend that it did, blocking out the images of Padme that were coming to his mind, and instead, focusing on speaking to the Queen.

"And was he pleased with the Jedi?" He heard the soft hitch in her breath, the suppressed rage. He took a step towards her, lifting his hand to hers to press a soft kiss to the skin. She visibly relaxed at his touch, where he could feel more of the gritty come from her skin to his lips, grinding into the grooves there.

"He seems to care little for Kenobi. He was more interested in another Jedi, Skywalker he called him." Anakin said nothing, only raised his eyebrows in what he knew would pass for genuine surprise. "You are familiar with this man?"

"In name only." Anakin insisted, and she pressed her lips together, regarding him before she seemed satisfied.

"Tell me what you know."

"Only that he is a common name among the Jedi; he is a General, I believe." He tried to keep his voice level, not to betray himself as a servant, delivering her a drink, separated them. "Not much to say, I'm afraid. The Jedi and I," And her eyes glittered over the rim of her glass, "Run in different circles."

She seemed only mildly intrigued by the idea of a Jedi infiltrating her palace. "It is not matter whether Skywalker comes or not. He will meet the same fate as Kenobi; I could use two Jedi in my keep." She laughed and he was forced to join in, but even to him, it felt cold.

"Is the Jedi still in the dungeons?" He asked, and she shook her head, lounging back, the sound being mimicked by the bird.

"No." She said. "I had him brought upstairs where I can keep a closer eye on him." He nodded in apparent agreement, knowing now that he would have to weave through the complex halls of the castle, but as he concentrated he could feel Obi-Wan, still unconscious, somewhere close. "If Skywalker comes, it will be hard for him to get his friend from the main halls of the palace."

"An excellent point, your highness." He said, and offered her a low bow that had her eyebrows cocked as she regarded him. He glanced around the room, feeling a nudge through the force. His eyes flicked to Ahsoka, standing at the far edge, watching the tips of her fingers barely curl into her palm. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to rest before dinner."

"Send in your slave, Lars, I have some questions to ask of her."

"Of course, Queen." And with another bow, he stepped around her, towards the direction where Ahsoka was now approaching him. He looked where she had been standing, hearing the Queen begin to speak to her in a quiet tone. He stepped from the room, expecting to see Obi-Wan, but instead, it was only D'Nar.

He was speaking rapidly into a comlink, saying a string of words that he normally wouldn't have been able to hear. He reached out a field with his fingers, highlighting the vibrations with the force to the point the conversation was coming in acute bits and pieces, D'Nar not being able to see him.

"She is foolish…there must be other Jedi in the palace…Kenobi remains silent…one of the guards has been acting suspiciously…" And that last bit hit Anakin hard, it must be Rex, still disguised as Zygerrian, though Anakin had not seen him since the auction. "…mentioned a Skywalker…our time is near…I must go…"

And the comlink clicked off. He sucked in a breath, taking a step forward, making it seem as though he had just arrived. But his mind was racing. There was more to this than he could have anticipated, and he, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, the Togrutans: they were running out of time.


	7. Chapter 7

**(A/N) I'm so sorry for not updating, I haven't actually had a working keyboard for almost two weeks! Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

He had resigned any idea of comfortable sleep, at least for the time being. He had decided that it must have been a particular cruelty, seen as an honor by Miraj, that Obi-Wan was being held in the room between herself and Anakin. He had thought, naively he was realizing, that they would allow Obi-Wan to at least sleep. But the breaking in of slaves was an all night business, and he could hear them barking orders, dull thuds on fists and bars striking deep into already damaged flesh. He supposed the Queen, able to hear everything he could, was getting some sort of sick enjoyment from this; it had been going on for almost an hour and showed no signs of relenting.

But rather than sleep, though his body ached with tiredness, he had decided to contact the temple. His mission would have to be to remove Rex, Ahsoka and Obi-Wan from the palace; another team of Jedi would have to rescue the Togrutans on Kiros. He had managed to rig the old comlink in his room, a courtesy line usually only adept at interior calls. That had been the first thing he fixed, and was now picking up signals as far as the inner rim. But in this was the risk he was taking, he was gambling on the device not to be able to trace calls that went out of the city, but he had no guarantee of that. If they heard his message, they would surely kill all three of them, but if he didn't send it, there was fair chance of that regardless.

He held his hands to his lips, gesturing for silence, as the communication came into view. He begged them to understand, and as the semi-circle of the council around the war table came into view, it seemed that they did, all blinking, one almost speaking, but no noise being made.

"Kiros." He said, as quietly as they could where he knew they could still speak. "Slavery compound. 212th General captured. 501st undercover. Do not return transmission. Separatist forces on Zygerria. Will contact again." And, only seeing the beginning of a nod from Mace Windu, he shut the communication down as a loud knock came to the door.

Keeping it still hidden, he grasped his light sabers between his fingers. In his head, he felt the twin relief of having told the council of the slaves on Kiros, and the terror at what that might have cost. He pushed the emotions away from his face, channeling every ounce of restraint training he possessed.

He opened the door to a guard, eyes clinking slowly under his helmet. "Can I help you?" Anakin said, unable to keep the coldness from his tone. This could be a guard that had tortured Obi-Wan, who he could hear now being throne against the stone walls of the room he was locked in.

"Can I come in, Sir?" His first reaction was to tighten his grip on his saber, but his mind was already racing. The accent was off; not terrible, but not natural. He regarded the guard, he was more well-built, with broad shoulders and heavy muscles under his armor, as opposed to the stick-thin native Zygerrians who were dependent on intimidation for success. He actually gave a small smile, recognizing the eyes under their cold façade as his battered, but determined Captain.

He let the door shut behind them, but neither spoke; with guards on the other side and the room perhaps bugged, there was a good chance they would be heard, arrested, or killed. There was silence for a moment, then Anakin could hear the clanking of chains. He glanced at the wall, the time was exactly on the hour, Obi-Wan must be done for now; but Rex seemed to shudder a bit at the sound.

"I was on prison duty." The clone said, maintaining his accent. The thought made Anakin's stomach turn, he knew then, everything they had done to the Jedi Master. He fought back the bile in his throat, allowing Rex to turn to face him. "Have you been able to contact people on your home planet, Mr. Quell?"

"I made contact earlier and informed them of the situation." The guard nodded, and Anakin could tell he wanted to say more, needed to say more, but now was not the time. It was not safe.

"Have a good night then, Sir." He turned to leave, stepping out of the door that Anakin held open again.

"The others will arrive in three days time." But Rex was already moving down the hall, past where he was now, and he had no way of knowing if the clone had heard or understood him. So he slammed the door, ignoring the suicidal desire to check on his master in the next room, and instead, began to dress for sleep. He faded the lights, the quiet sounds of the city below providing his mind enough distraction to not focus on the horrors of the last few days.

He slid into an uneasy rest, allowing his body the recovery it needed, his tired limbs grateful for the soft bed they were allowed to lie on. He counted it as a good rest, at least for a couple of hours.

When his eyes opened again, after those two hours, the room was still dark with night, but the electric shocks they used to wake Obi-Wan hit his ears harshly, followed by the barking of unanswerable commands, and the cracking of what he knew to be a whip. He turned on his side, facing the wall that separated them; and even though they finished in half-an-hour as they had the time before, he couldn't sleep the rest of the night.


End file.
